Deep sleep is a luxury for the living, but for a slime, it is a state of total structural reassessment.
When I finally drifted back to consciousness, the first thing I noticed wasn't the dark. It was the weight. A heavy, comforting pressure was draped over my translucent body. I pulsed my [Magic Sense]—now significantly sharper and more intuitive—and realized I was tucked into a bed of soft, silver fur.
Fenris had grown.
What was once a dying, ragged beast was now a magnificent engine of destruction. His fur didn't just look like moonlight; it shimmered with a faint, metallic luster. His paws were the size of dinner plates, tipped with obsidian claws that hummed with latent mana.
As I shifted, the wolf's ears twitched. He let out a low, rumbling huff and nudged me with a nose that felt like wet velvet. Through our soul-link, I felt a wave of gratitude so intense it made my core vibrate.
< Status Report: Naming Successful. > < Subordinate: Fenris (Rank: A- Grade Calamity). > < Host Evolution: High Spirit Slime (Juvenile). > < New Skill Acquired: [Link-Communication]. >
"You're awake," I thought, testing the new skill.
"Master," Fenris's voice echoed in my mind. It was deep, resonant, and filled with a gravelly dignity. "The cave is no longer safe for your brilliance. The scents of the outside are calling."
I couldn't agree more. I had spent enough time in this stone womb. It was time to see the world I was supposed to inherit.
The transition from the cave to the Forest of Jura was like moving from a funeral to a festival.
As we crossed the threshold of the cavern, the air changed. The damp, mineral scent of the deep earth was replaced by the overwhelming fragrance of pine, damp earth, and blooming wildflowers. The sun—a massive, golden eye in a sky of bruised purple—beat down on my silver skin, and for a moment, I feared I would evaporate.
Instead, I felt invigorated. My [Thermal Manipulation] automatically kicked in, regulating my internal temperature to match the humid forest air.
The Forest of Jura was a vertical labyrinth. Massive trees, their trunks as wide as houses, reached for the heavens, their branches intertwined like the fingers of giants. Everything here was oversized. Butterflies with three-foot wingspans flitted between flowers that pulsed with bioluminescence even in the daylight.
"Archivist," I thought, taking in the sheer scale of it. "Analyze the local mana density."
< Answer: Mana concentration is 400% higher than the cave environment. Host is advised to maintain [Magic Sense] at all times. Predatory levels in this sector are high. >
I didn't need a computer to tell me that. I could feel eyes on us. Not just animal eyes, but something with intent.
We hadn't been walking for an hour when the first "greeting" arrived.
A rustle in the high ferns to our left was followed by a sharp, whistling sound. Instinct—or perhaps the Archivist's predictive processing—screamed at me to move. I compressed my lower membrane and launched myself upward, a silver streak in the green gloom.
A wooden spear, tipped with jagged flint, thudded into the ground where I had been a second ago.
"Intruders!" a high-pitched voice rasped in a tongue I shouldn't have understood, yet the mana carried its meaning. "The Silver Puddle and the Moon-Dog! Kill them for the Chief!"
From the undergrowth emerged six creatures. They were small, barely four feet tall, with skin the color of rotting limes and large, bulbous eyes. They wore loincloths made of cured hide and carried primitive weapons.
Goblins.
In my old world, Goblins were the fodder. The "Level 1" enemies you farmed for gold. But as they circled us, their movements were coordinated, their faces twisted with a desperate, starving hunger.
Fenris let out a growl that shook the leaves from the trees. The air around his maw began to crackle with static electricity.
"Wait, Fenris," I commanded.
I wanted to test something. In Mushoku Tensei, the protagonist learned that communication was the most powerful form of magic. If I started my new life by slaughtering the first sentient beings I met, I was no better than the monsters they thought I was.
I slid forward, placing myself between the Goblins and Fenris's bared fangs. I didn't have a mouth, so I used the air. I vibrated my entire body, manipulating the sound waves to mimic the human speech I remembered.
"We... are... not... enemies," I boomed. The voice was metallic and echoed strangely, but it stopped the Goblins in their tracks.
The leader, a particularly wizened Goblin with a scar across his nose, lowered his spear slightly. "The puddle... talks?"
"I am Aris," I said, gaining confidence in the vibration. "And this is Fenris. We seek the path, not your blood. Why do you attack travelers?"
The leader looked at his companions, then back at me. His eyes weren't filled with malice; they were filled with terror. "Travelers? No. We protect the village. The Direwolves... they have been hunting us for weeks. We thought you were the vanguard."
I felt Fenris bristling behind me. "I am no mere Direwolf," he rumbled through our link. "I would not hunt such pathetic morsels."
I ignored his pride. "We have no quarrel with your village. In fact," I looked at their protruding ribs and shaking hands, "it looks like you could use a friend."
The Goblin village was a tragedy in wood and straw.
It consisted of a dozen leaning huts centered around a dying fire. The smell of sickness and rot hung heavy in the air. As Fenris and I entered, children hid behind their mothers' tattered skirts. These weren't the fierce warriors of legend; they were a dying breed.
The Chief, an elderly goblin whose skin hung in folds off his frame, hobbled out to meet us. He knelt before me, his forehead touching the dirt.
"Great Silver One," he wheezed. "Our warriors say you speak with the voice of the wind. We have nothing to give you. Our hunters return empty-handed. The 'Fang-Pack' has claimed the river."
I felt a familiar tug in my chest—the same one I felt when I saw Fenris dying in the cave. This was the "Protagonist's Curse," I suppose. I couldn't just walk away.
"I don't want your gold," I said. "I want information. Tell me about this 'Fang-Pack.' And tell me about the world beyond this forest."
For the next three hours, the Chief spoke. I learned that the Forest of Jura was a "Neutral Zone" between the Holy Kingdom of Millis to the west and the Eastern Empire. I learned that the "Great Catastrophe"—the battle of the dragons—had shifted the balance of power, leaving the forest monsters to fight for scraps.
The Fang-Pack was a group of thirty Direwolves who had been driven mad by a "Black Miasma" leaking from the mountains. They weren't just hunting for food; they were killing for sport.
"They come at moonrise," the Chief whispered. "Tonight... tonight is the end."
I looked at my translucent hands—or the pseudopods that served as them. I remembered my first life. I had watched as my neighborhood was torn down for a shopping mall, and I had done nothing. I had watched as my own life fell apart, and I had done nothing.
"Fenris," I thought.
"Yes, Master?"
"We're staying. We're going to teach these wolves the difference between a predator and a Sovereign."
< Sub-Quest Initiated: The Defense of the Green-Skin. > < Reward: Potential for Village Foundation. > < Warning: Enemy numbers exceed host's current mana output. Tactical intervention required. >
"I know, Archivist," I thought, a cold, blue light beginning to pulse in my core. "But I didn't spend three months studying thermodynamics just to lose to a bunch of overgrown dogs."
I spent the afternoon transforming the village. I didn't give them better spears—I gave them physics. I showed them how to dig pit traps with angled stakes to maximize piercing pressure. I used my [Thermal Manipulation] to harden the tips of their wooden arrows until they were as strong as iron.
But for the main event, I needed the river.
I slid to the edge of the village, where a small stream fed into a pond. I began to work. I didn't cast a "Water Spell." I manipulated the surface tension. I created a series of "Liquid Lenses" suspended in the air, hidden by the foliage.
If the wolves wanted a fight, I would give them a lesson in optics.
The moon rose, a bloated silver coin that bathed the forest in a ghostly light.
Then came the howling. It wasn't the dignified howl of Fenris; it was a discordant, screeching sound that set my nerves on edge. Shadows detached themselves from the treeline. Thirty pairs of red, glowing eyes focused on the village gates.
The lead wolf, a scarred beast with matted black fur, stepped forward. He sniffed the air, his lip curling in a snarl as he caught the scent of Fenris.
"A traitor," the lead wolf growled, his voice a distorted mess of mana. "A Direwolf who bows to a puddle. We will feast on your core."
"You're welcome to try," I said, my voice echoing through the "Liquid Lenses" I had placed around the clearing.
The wolves charged.
They expected a massacre. They expected terrified Goblins. What they got was a calculated nightmare.
"Now!" I signaled.
The Goblins released the pit traps. The first line of wolves fell into the earth, impaled on hardened wooden spikes. But the rest leaped over their fallen brothers, their speed supernatural.
"Fenris, the left flank!"
Fenris became a blur of silver light. He didn't just bite; he moved with a grace that defied his size. Every swipe of his claws sent a wave of pressurized air—a "Vacuum Blade"—that sliced through hide and bone.
But there were too many. Three wolves lunged at me simultaneously.
I didn't move. I waited until they were inches away, their jaws wide, their breath stinking of old blood.
"Archivist. Focus the lenses."
< Light Concentration: 100%. >
The moonlight hitting the "Liquid Lenses" I had suspended in the trees wasn't just light anymore. It was a laser. By manipulating the curvature of the water, I had created a series of magnifying glasses that focused the lunar mana into a pinprick of absolute heat.
Searing.
Thin beams of white-hot light lanced down from the canopy. They didn't just burn; they cauterized. The three wolves vanished in a cloud of steam and scorched fur.
I didn't stop. I slid into the center of the battlefield, my body glowing with a fierce, cobalt light. I pulled the moisture from the very air, creating a fog so thick the wolves couldn't see their own paws. Then, I dropped the temperature.
"Flash Freeze."
The fog turned into a storm of microscopic ice needles. I didn't need to kill them all; I just needed to break their will.
The lead wolf, seeing his pack decimated by a "puddle" and a single silver wolf, let out a whimper of pure animal terror. He turned to flee, but Fenris was already there, his obsidian claws at the beast's throat.
"Do we kill them, Master?" Fenris asked, his eyes glowing with the thrill of the hunt.
I looked at the surviving wolves. They were broken, shivering in the cold I had created.
"No," I said. "We consume."
I didn't mean literally. I moved toward the lead wolf. "You have two choices. You die here, or you submit. I am Aris, the Sovereign of the Silver Loop. And this forest... it belongs to me now."
The lead wolf bowed his head. One by one, the others followed.
< Battle Concluded. > < Result: Absolute Victory. > < Experience Synthesized. New Skill Acquired: [Lord's Ambition]. > < Evolution Progress: 15%. >
The Goblins emerged from their huts, silent and awestruck. The Chief walked toward me, his eyes wet with tears.
"You saved us," he whispered. "We are yours. Our lives, our village... it is all yours."
I looked at the moon. I had been in this world for less than a year. I had a wolf, a pack of defeated enemies, and a village of starving Goblins. It wasn't a kingdom yet. It was a mess.
But as I felt the collective mana of the village begin to resonate with my own core, I realized that I wasn't just a spectator anymore. I was the author.
"Alright," I said, my voice steady. "First order of business. We're going to need more than straw huts."
[Volume 1: Chapter 2 End]